Shakespeare's Poison
by popcorn1001
Summary: Mark's favourite play has always been Hamlet. That is, until now.


**I don't own Rent, I don't own Hamlet, I don't own anything at all. The quotes come from Hamlet (obviously) and I even labelled what Act and scene they were from. Ex Act 5 Scene 3 would look like this V, iii... there's not V, iii in Hamlet but you get my point. Hope you like it.**

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**Shakespeare's Poison**

Mark loved Shakespeare. After all, Shakespeare had been the filmmaker of his day, a playwright. Mark was also jealous of Shakespeare's success, he was just a struggling artist and Shakespeare had written for royalty. Yet, Mark couldn't bring himself to hate Shakespeare, he adored the plays and even the sonnets and had many of Shakespeare's work lying around the loft.

One piece travelled the entire loft frequently, from his bedroom, to the duct-tape covered couch, to the metal table and the coffee table, even found beside the fridge on occasion and Roger swore that he once found it in the bathroom. The book was old, dog-eared with a broken spine, pages tempted to fall out, but Mark loved it, claimed it was his favourite though when ever he was asked why he would just shrug his shoulder and fail to give anyone a real answer. The truth of it was, that this story reminded Mark vastly of his life.

This book, this play was Hamlet.

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_Oh I am slain! (Polonius [III,iv])_

Angel murdered by no fault of her own. For she had contracted the disease from an ex, and ex who had stolen her virginity without permission. A rape rather then the pleasant experience it should have been. And with the virginity he stole her life as well, infecting her. She knew that she truly had been murdered and yet she harboured no discontent, still she was slain far too early.

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_Too much water, hast thou poor Ophelia,  
And therefore I forbid my tears. (Laertes [IV, vii])_

April too committed suicide, and though she did not drown, she was surrounded by water. Pinkish tinged water that filled the tub, her wrists slit simply and drifted away, at peace for the first time in days. Her mind as well as her body more then unwell.

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_Gertrude, do not drink (Claudius)_

_I will my lord; I pray you pardon me, (Gertrude )_

_[Aside] It is the poisoned cup: it is too late. (Claudius [V, ii])_

Mimi who took poison in a different form. The drugs in her veins destroying her already very fragile immune system. The tempt of the drug too strong for her to refuse, despite the warnings, and the very cause of her death. The drug poisoned her blood, her poisoned blood killed her.

_I am justly killed with my own treachery (Laertes, [V, ii])_

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Collins had only ever made one mistake in his life. That one mistake cost him, his life. After a bad argument with a boyfriend who had cheated on him, Collins took to his revenge one drunken night, and cheated on his boyfriend with a stranger. Collins had not practised safe sex that night, when he made his mistake. The next day he got tested, a week later, a positive result, Collins had HIV. His rocky relationship was lost as well as years of what should have been his life.

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_Horatio, I am dead;_

_Thou livest, report me and my cause aright_

_To the unsatisfied. (Hamlet)_

_Never believe it,_

_I am more an antique Roman then a Dane_

_Here's yet some liquor left (Horatio)_

_As thou'rt a man,_

_Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't_

_O good Horatio, what a wounded name,_

_Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!_

_If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,_

_Absent thee from felicity for awhile,_

_And in this harsh world, draw thy breath in pain,_

_To tell my story. (Hamlet [V, ii])_

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They were in the hospital again. Mark couldn't believe it, he refused to believe it. Yet Roger said it anyway, "Mark..." he began, "I'm dying." Mark shook his head vigorously, eyes shut tight, fists clenched. "You need to finish your film." Mark had been working on a more detailed documentary about AIDS itself.

"I don't know how," Mark whispered, "Roger... I don't even know how I'm going to live without you, it's been so long since I have."

Roger let out a weak imitation of his former growl, "Stop it," he ordered, "You will be fine, and alive, and you will tell truths through the magic of your film. You need to carry on without me."

"Roger, I'm not sure if I can find a way to do that..." Mark said, fighting off the tears by keeping his eyes shut still. Mark felt Roger's hand on his, and heard his voice, softer and gentler this time.

"Mark Cohen," the full name meant that Roger was serious, "Look at me,"

Mark reluctantly opened his eyes, and ice blue met bright green, "What?" he questioned softly.

"I know it's going to hurt when I'm gone, it hurt when Mimi and April and Collins died too," Roger said, "But you have a chance to share with the world, perhaps turn the world around, by showing those films. Showing your films could change the world Mark. You have to promise me, that you'll keep on living."

Mark looked at his best friend, who was pale and covered in sweat, his overgrown hair stuck to his face. Mark absently stroked a piece away from Roger's eyes, "I promise."

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_Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight sweet prince:_

_And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. (Horatio[V,ii])_

Roger's eyes had closed, his grip on Mark's hand loosened severely, and his breathing become much to laboured. Mark finally let the tears pour, as he gripped Roger's larger hand tighter with every one of his own breaths. When Roger's hand fell limp, Mark choked back a sob, instead, standing, and smoothing Roger's hair once more. Mark leaned over and kissed Roger once on the forehead, before walking towards the door, at the doorway Mark turned back for one last look at his best friend, "Good night Roger, I hope Angel, Mimi, Collins and even April are all up there waiting to welcome you... and don't fret too much Rog – I won't be seeing you again for a very long time."

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That very night was the first day of fall, and the weather turned cold. By the time Mark returned to the loft if was freezing, both outside and inside the loft. Mark started a fire in their illegal wood-burning stove, and on the couch sat his favourite play. Mark looked at it, then unexpectedly, especially to himself, he walked over and ripped the play in have, he ripped it again, in quarters, threw it into the trash can, where he watched it light up, crackle and flame.

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**R&R**


End file.
